Breakthroughs
by starclouds
Summary: There’s something about breakthroughs that makes things a whole lot different. Sometimes, you surprise people, even yourself. MerDer/character based story. Read and review!
1. Derek

**A/N: **So I haven't written fics in the longest time. I've been too swamped with school work I forgot all about it. Anyway, I'm back! Follows after the finale and extends a little bit over 5x01/02. But not overlapping 5x03 because that's just screwed up. Anyway, please read and review! :)

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own and I am not affiliated to Grey's Anatomy or any characters used in this story. I do not own Sara Bareilles' song One Sweet Love._

**Breakthroughs**

_The earth that is the space between,_

_I'd banish it from under me... to get to you._

_Your unexpected love provides my solitary's_

_Suicide... oh I wish I knew_

_--One Sweet Love_

_Sara Bareilles_

_**Derek**_

There's something about breakthroughs that makes things a whole lot different.

The night your clinical trial patient wakes up, you find Meredith in your land surrounded by a hundred candles and she tells you she's whole and healed. An hour before that, you were rummaging in the garbage looking for the discarded bottle of champagne, and you finally realize what mess you've gotten yourself into.

When Meredith tells you that she believes in being extraordinary together, you kiss her hard. The familiar lavender scent overwhelms you as you breathe her in and the next thing you know, you're walking away from her but not without a promise that you'd come back.

You're scared that you won't find her when you get back. An hour (or two) after you left to break up with Rose, you find Meredith curled up in your hammock sleeping and your eyes stray over to the candle house she made. She moved, but she didn't leave.

So she waited for you. She built you a house out of candles and she wants a lifetime with you. And you know this girl. This thing right here is a breakthrough for Meredith Grey.

xxxxx

The two of you are doing the talking thing. It's hard, but you are actually making progress and you tell your girlfriend that you want to know things. Anything really, as long as you'll know something about her.

It's a challenge for her and she takes it. More often than not, she likes the challenge.

You start it off with little things. Like ice cream flavors and books she's read before medicine corrupted her brain. She giggles when you finish asking, and you hold your breath, afraid that she's going to deny you this request—only, she doesn't.

You're sitting outside the benches of Seattle Grace over lunch break, in your scrubs and lab coats, talking about non-sense things that people usually reserved for their first dates. You two however, don't mind. Meredith's got a huge glass of strawberry milkshake and you're eating a sandwich. It almost feels like you've been doing this since you were in junior high.

You're excited to know that she likes strawberry ice cream with the chunks in it. She likes Haruki Murakami's novels and she's got a couple of poems by Pablo Neruda stuck to her head. She can't draw to save her life, and the only thing her mother ever taught her was to make a pot of coffee because Ellis Grey thought it was one of life's most important lessons. You discover that her middle name is Elizabeth and she's never told anyone about it but you (and Cristina, of course.)

"But Richard knows your middle name," you state and she shakes her head, laughing.

"He doesn't count. He was the one who filled out my birth certificate."

You blink back at her in confusion and she simply shrugs the thought off.

So the conversation starts with your middle name.

"My middle name is…"

"Christopher," she cuts you off effectively and you look at her in surprise. "I have my sources." She offers by way of explanation and you simply nod, impressed at the thought that she knew something about you.

She knows more things about you than you ever thought.

She knows that you like single malt scotch because that was what your father liked to drink when you were a child. She knows that you like the occasional fudge brownie they sell in the coffee cart near the entrance, and that the reason you eat muesli is because you hate the powdered sugar they put on the Cheerios. She knows that the only poem you've memorized is "I do not love you except because I love you" by Pablo Neruda and she looks at you with sad eyes.

"I love you only because it's you the one I love," she whispers softly and you cup her cheek with your hand.

She knows the poem and smiles before looking up at you to remind you that you're a hopeless romantic. You don't argue because it's true. She knows you know how to dance and that she's the only person you're willing to dance with in public—at least after Addison which was during the prom.

She knows that you love her and you know that she loves you—even if you're both not good at showing it.

xxxxx

Your girlfriend just asked you to live with her. You don't want to look surprised, but you know you are and you immediately answer yes. Meredith's amazed you agree so easily and you shrug, asking her if she's ready.

"I'm leaning into the fear and getting a happy ending," she says, and you look at her in slight confusion.

"I don't even know what that means."

A few hours later, you're sitting on an empty gurney in the hall with your stabbed hand in front of Meredith. You want to tell her how this happened, but she's busy padding antiseptic on your wound that you think she didn't hear you.

"Aaaah," you wince and she continues to put the stinging liquid on your hand.

"I am not sure that moving in together is a good idea," she says and you grit your teeth trying to bear the pain from the wound.

"Okay. Fine."

"Fine? What does that mean?"

"It means that I know you," you say looking up at her as she continues the procedure on your hand without even looking. Meredith looks at you curiously and you know that the conversation will soon turn into a serious one.

"So what, you didn't believe me that I would let you move in, in the first place?"

"I believe that you believed it." She simply stares at you. "Look, I'm gonna move very slowly," you assure her and you remember the promise you said when you got back together, "baby steps, no sudden moves." You chuckle slightly because she reminds you of deer peering out of the trees in the forest during hunting season. "You're like a deer in the woods."

"Okay," she retorts, smiling slightly, "I built a house of candles. That is unprecedented in the Meredith chronicles."

"Fine, let's move in together." You finally push and she nods her head.

"Fine."

She finishes up with your bloody hand and prepares the gauze to go over it. You honestly don't know what's going on inside her head so you take the chance and say something—though you know you might get in trouble after that.

"Unless of course you just wanna go ahead and get married." She looks at you and you laugh at the joke you just made. "Gotcha." She's still staring at you and you wonder if she's mulling over the thought inside her head.

But the truth is that's what you want. And you know she wants the same things—it's just that maybe, it's not yet time.

xxx

You hear about Cristina getting impaled by an icicle and Meredith calls to tell you that she's going to bring her home. She asks if you want to meet up before you leave for the trailer and you agree.

She's waiting for you in the lobby trying to occupy a cranky looking Cristina. You see her as you step out of the elevator and you kiss her on the crown of her head when you reach her, acknowledging the grumbling resident beside her. Cristina simply rolls her eyes at the two of you and looks away.

"Nice to see you too, Dr. Yang," you say by way of greeting and Cristina continues to roll her eyes at you. Meredith however has stood up and kissed you on the cheek. "Hey."

"Hey. So, I'll just meet up with you at the trailer?" You nod, unable to hide the grin spreading over your face. She narrows her eyes at you. "What?"

"Nothing," you reply and brush your lips with hers before preparing to leave. Your eyes stray to Cristina and back to Meredith. "You gonna be okay over here?"

She shrugs. "Yeah, we're gonna be fine. She just needs some food and a bed."

"Don't let her do anything stupid." You point towards Cristina with your thumb before turning to leave. "I'll see you in a while." You wave goodbye and walk towards the parking lot, thinking of passing by an office warehouse to see if you could get a couple of boxes you'll need when you move out.

You know she's scared. You know she's terrified of the things she's been doing but you can't help but smile. And be outrageously happy about things. Because she's taking steps—little steps, big steps, she's trying to do it too. You want to give your share of the bargain by waiting for her because really, everything's worth it to those who wait.

xxx

At first you thought this was going to be the most awkward thing—ever. Living with your girlfriend, in _her_ house, with _her_ roommates, and you're _their_ boss. Not only their boss, but their boss' boss. And you're their teacher. Which probably makes things extra _extra_ weird.

But you're surprised it doesn't go that way. When you park your Range Rover in the driveway of Meredith's house, she's already made space for your enormous SUV and she's waiting for you in the front porch of the house. You jump down from the car and she approaches you with a kiss on the cheek and you can't help but imagine doing this for the rest of your lives. She hands you a keychain of a little plastic ferryboat with a bunch of keys in it and she sheepishly apologizes for picking out a corny keychain. She rambles about it for a while, something about limited choices and a crappy hospital gift shop and something you didn't even bother to listen to because you kiss her. Hard. And you manage to tell her that the keychain is perfect and you weren't looking for anything fancy. Nothing matters anymore because now you're moving in her house and you're going to wake up with her next to you every single day.

After an hour of unpacking, when you've put all your clothes in Meredith's drawer and she's made some space for you in her closet, you admire her for taking this step with you. She's placed all your hair products and your toothbrush in the bathroom and she's fluffed up your pillows on the bed. She asks you if you want dinner because Izzie ordered some Italian food out and you're surprised it wasn't awkward. You both fall into the regular banter you always do and Izzie excuses herself, claiming she can't survive anything mushy and gooey tonight. Meredith simply laughs her off. She's comfortable with you, you're happy eating dinner with her and you don't seem to run out of things to talk about.

After dinner, you find the two of you tangled in the sheets covered in the slick sweat that comes with the mind-blowing sex she never fails to deliver. Things never change.

She looks over at you and you wrap your arm around her waist, pulling her close to spoon her. You begin to wonder what's going on inside her head because she's normally not this quiet after sex and you're afraid that she's freaking out.

"Hey," you whisper. "Are you okay?"

She nods against you and you kiss her gently on the neck. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Something's on your mind."

You have this talent. You have this talent of reading Meredith like a book without having to ask her questions or having to ask other people what's wrong with her. You've never been this way with Addison because she's always been so outspoken and the need was never there, but with Meredith, you seem to have acquired the skill. And tonight, you find the need to figure out what's on Meredith's mind before she buries it deep inside. She sighs and rolls over to face you, her eyes showing nothing but fear… and something else. Love?

"I'm going to try to make this work, okay?" She says and you prop your head with your hand to listen to her fully. "I'm going to try and lean into the fear so I can get my happy ending. Because Derek, really, I'm scared here. So if I mess up, don't give up so easily, okay?"

"And here I thought you were scared because I moved in with you."

She looks alarmed, and she stutters before answering. "What? No. No! Of course not, it's not because you moved in. I mean, you moving in is perfect, it's just that…" She's rambling and you put a finger on her mouth to silence her.

"I'm not giving up that easily okay?" You assure her. "We're taking it slow. I don't want to mess this up because I don't want to lose it again. Okay?"

"Okay."

You've managed to get used to her being not emotional and all, so you're everything but contented to have her beside you in bed. But she rolls over to face you and you simply stare at her, and she says something so quietly you were afraid you heard her wrong.

"I love you."

It's been a while since she's said that to you. So you smile and caress her cheek with your finger, not before you whisper the same reassuring words to her. "I love you too."

You both fall asleep after a little bit more conversation and you can't keep the smile off your face that night.

xxxxx

You take Meredith out for dinner. Like a real dinner date, with waiters, private booths and fancy tablecloths on the table. You're sitting on one of those round booths with seats that wrap around the table and she sits across the table from you, like normal couples do.

You tell her that this is your first date.

"Third first date," she corrects and your brow furrows in confusion, "You know, the third time you brought me someplace?"

"When was the first one?"

"When we had breakfast in that little café near the hospital."

You chuckle and she rolls her eyes at you. The sommelier arrives with a bottle of red wine and you reach out to pull Meredith to your side.

"I don't think that was a date. It was breakfast after all."

"The other one then. The one with the wine and the ferry boats."

You remember that day. It was raining and you just ran a 24-hour shift, and you find your girlfriend waiting for you with a bottle of wine and a promise to bring you to a place that overlooked the ferryboats. And she did bring you to the place with the ferryboats—because she knew you liked the view from up there. You don't consider it a date because she planned it and the only thing you did was to drive to wherever it was she wanted you to take her.

"Nope," you shake your head, remembering that day, "sorry. You were the one who brought me out to that spot; I don't think that was a date."

She narrows her eyes at you and her eyebrow rises in surprise. "So if it's me who brings you out, it's not considered a date?"

"Well, no. It's not a date—well, at least for me. I still like to think that I'm a gentleman and besides," you reach out to stroke her hair, "there wasn't any dinner involved. That's not a date."

Your food arrives and you offer her your first bite of steak. You watch her take the meat, her lips sliding delicately off your fork and you can't help but wish that you were _that_ fork right now. After that, she offers you the pasta she ordered and you tease her for eating something not-Meredith. She rolls her eyes and gets back at you by stuffing a piece of bread she doused with olive oil and she laughs at your disgusted face.

You eat your dinner with jokes about Mark and bad impersonations of cranky Cristina. When the waiter arrives and asks you if you want dessert, Meredith doesn't take the dessert menu—instead, she orders right off the bat and you love her for it.

"Cheesecake," she says and the waiter nods his head, "do you have cheesecake?"

"Yes, Madame. You might like the chef's special tonight, strawberry cheesecake with chocolate…"

Meredith shrugs and smiles sweetly at the young waiter standing beside your table. "Surprise us," she says and he shuffles off to serve your order.

The strawberry cheesecake arrives and it comes with only one fork. She doesn't ask for another one but instead, she tucks herself closer to you and takes the first bite.

"You're not giving me any?" You ask, giving her that pouty look that always worked on her. She smiles and offers you the next bite.

"Sure I am," she whispers softly in your ear, "because I love you so much that I can let you have the last piece of cheesecake."

And you love her for that. Because she loves you so much that makes her want to hate you and love you. She'll pretend to like your taste in music. She'll hold a radio over her head and let you have the last piece of cheesecake—even if it is the chef's special.

xxxxx

Meredith's sleeping. You've been paging her for the past ten minutes and she hasn't answered any one of them, so you go off looking for her in the most obvious places you could think of. She wasn't in the on-call rooms on the surgical floor, or the ones close to the pit or the clinic, so you figure that she's down in the tunnels sleeping it off in one of the empty gurneys they left there.

And she is there, lying face down on a gurney with the blinking pager stuck to her scrub pants. You know she's tired because her shift started six hours before yours so when you sit beside her on the gurney, you're careful not to wake her up. You were just about to reach out to her when she suddenly bolts up from sleep, breathing heavily and clutching tightly to the gurney's rails. She blinks rapidly and looks up at you in surprise.

"Derek," she breathes and she gets up to tuck herself close to you, "thank God."

You pull her up against you and she rests her head on your shoulder. She's shaking and she's trying to control her breathing so you stay like this for a while as you wait for her to calm down.

"What happened?" You ask and she looks at you like she's ready to cry. "Meredith, what's wrong?"

"I'm scared," she admits and the dam breaks so you let her cry. You whisper quiet reassurances in her ear and she hiccups, broken gasps and watery sobs making up for what used to be words you could understand. "I'm scared. Please, please Derek. Please don't leave me. Ever."

"What?" You ask in confusion but Meredith's still shaking in your arms, "I'm not going anywhere…"

"I don't want to lose you." The words stumble helplessly in her mouth as she tries her hardest to choke back the sobs, "I dreamt… oh God. I'm… I don't… don't want to lose you…"

She looks up at you with red rimmed eyes and you can't help but try to make things better. You kiss her forehead and she closes her eyes at the contact and you're happy she's letting you hold her.

"What happened?"

"Don't die on me Derek. Promise me you're not gonna die on me."

"I'm not…"

"You died Derek," she says quietly, her voice breaking, "in my dream you died. When you left me in the candle house, you didn't come back. And I had to see you die. For the fucking hundredth time, I dreamt that you died. For the hundredth time I had to see Bailey give up on saving you and you die. Derek, I can't… I just…"

You've never seen her like this. You've never seen her so afraid because all her life, she's always been the girl who never asked comfort from anyone, the girl who's never had anyone to hug her, the girl who's always told the world that she's dark and twisty. But today, as she continues to shake against your chest, crying her heart out for fear that she'll lose you because of a dream… well—you can't help but hold her tighter and never let go.

"How long have you been having this dream?" You ask her when she's finally calmed down. You wipe away the tears with your fingers and she smiles weakly, trying her best not to look at you. "Meredith?"

"A couple of days… probably a week…" You eye her suspiciously and she relents, "okay. Maybe a day after we left the candle house."

"Mer," you sigh and you pull away from her, "why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it was just my neurosis getting the best of me." She stops. "I'm in therapy Derek."

You eye her warily but you don't judge her. Instead, you bury your nose in her hair and she relaxes against you, which you hope in all hopes that that's the response you want her to have.

"Okay."

"It's just… I'm so scared…"

"Of?"

She sighs and pulls away from you, and drops herself heavily on the gurney's cushion. You pull her legs up over your thighs and you lean on the brick wall behind you. "The happy ending. I'm just so fucking scared I'm not going to get the happy ending," she says and turns her head to look at you, "because seriously. Who the hell gets their happy ending nowadays? I mean, it's only nothing but the stuff you leave to imagine in your dreams."

You run your hands through your hair and contemplate on her words. As a kid, you were led to believe that there is such a thing as fairy tales and happy endings. After all, you had four sisters—four sisters who all dressed up as princesses and played with dolls and little tea sets. You were the only boy so when your mother told them stories about far-away princesses and handsome princes, you told yourself that when you grow up, you'll be somebody's prince charming.

You just weren't expecting to be the guy who's gonna be convincing the princess that you're her knight in shining _whatever._ You get up and hover above her, using your arms to support most of your weight as you suspend yourself over her. You lose yourself in her grey-green eyes and pause for a moment before you say something.

"Look, we're not perfect, I know that. And I know that how we got here, it's all crappy and messed up. We started on the wrong foot, probably even fucked everything up. But you know what matters the most to me?"

"What?"

"It's that you're here and I'm here for you. Because no matter what happens, no matter how many more crappy things that comes our way, we're going to fight for that happy ending." She looks up at you and you smile down at her, dropping a kiss on her lips before straightening up. "You should get the happy ending Mer. Because you deserve so much better."

She stares at you dumbfounded, but not without a shadow of a smile on her lips. She pulls on your collar and kisses you deep before you pull away, and you feel so giddy that you're going to explode. Your pager beeps and you see it's an emergency so you cock your head to the side, dropping a fleeting kiss on her forehead before leaving.

"Page me if you need me. I'll be back, I promise," you whisper as she straightened the collar of your lab coat, "I love you."

You leave Meredith on the gurney and smile at her before walking away. You hear a faint "I love you" as you walk away and you can't help but smile at the moment. She loves you and you love her, and you can't think of anything better than that.

There is a happily ever after. It may not be perfect, sure, but there is a happily ever after. The two of you are legends—the Seattle Grace legend and you'll be damned if you don't get that happy ending for your princess.


	2. Meredith

**A/N: **This one just answers everything I talked about from Derek's POV. It's time to make Meredith talk, because seriously, I love Meredith. And I just want Shonda to make her stop whining because I really don't think Meredith's the whiny kind of person. She's a big ball of fun. LOL. Please read and review! :)

**Disclaimer:** _I do not own and I am not affiliated to Grey's Anatomy or any characters used in this story. I do not own James Morrison's song You Make It Real._

**Breakthroughs**

_Everybody's talking in words I don't understand,  
You got to be the only one, who knows just who I am  
And you're shining in the distance,  
I hope I can make it through  
Cause the only place that I want to be is right back home with you_

_--You Make It Real_

_James Morrison_

_**Meredith**_

Sometimes, you surprise people, even yourself.

The night you found out that Beth's tumor shrunk, you run off to find Derek to tell him the news. You couldn't find that bottle of champagne to celebrate your victory, so you thought of something else to show him.

You made a house out of candles and now you're standing in the middle of it waiting for him.

This isn't the first time you're waiting for Derek. You've waited for him countless times before but he's always left you broken because he never came. But this time, he promised he'd come back. He'd asked you to wait for him (after he kissed you so hard, and you've never kissed a guy that much before,) so you stayed in the middle of the freezing hilltop. Waiting. You promised yourself a long time ago that you're not going to let any man break you, but this time, you're hoping to all the gods in the heavens that Derek Shepherd will come back for you.

Because you love him too damn much to just let all of this go.

It takes Derek about two hours before coming back home. You've grown tired of standing in the middle of his land so you've wandered away to the comfort of his trailer so you could sit for a moment. You just didn't expect to fall asleep in his hammock while waiting. When he gets back to the trailer, he picks you up and tucks you in bed before settling himself to sleep beside you.

You waited for him. And he came back. You sure as hell don't know why you made a candle house, but right now, all that you can think about is that you're extraordinary. You and Derek can be extraordinary together.

xxxxx

You are not the talking kind of person. You're hardly the talking kind, so when your boyfriend asks if he could get to know you, you falter a bit but you take the challenge anyway. It's not like it'll kill you if you didn't talk.

He starts by asking you about little things. Funny little things you wouldn't expect Derek Shepherd to ask you. He's asking you about ice cream and candy and books you've read before Boardman's Textbook of Neurosurgery. You laugh at him, and he looks at you with those dreamy eyes so you can't help but tell him what he wants to hear.

It's not cold today, seeing as you're sitting outside in the middle of your shift for lunch. The benches have always been a quiet place for the two of you, so you sit here with your strawberry milkshake and his chicken sandwich and talk. You're talking about non-sense things but you love spending time with him so you don't mind.

You tell him about your obsession with strawberries. You like strawberry ice cream but you _love_ strawberry ice cream with the chunks in it. He promises you a tub of ice cream tomorrow night and he laughs at your excitement. Sometimes you want to freeze that moment, the one where his eyes crinkle with happiness as he smiles. After that, you tell him about Haruki Murakami and your sheer knowledge of Pablo Neruda's poems.

He wonders what you could've been if you weren't a doctor right now.

"I probably won't be an artist, that's for sure," you say and he stops chewing for a while. You shrug. "I can't draw."

"You can't draw?" He asks amusedly. "Seriously? You can't draw?"

"Nope," you take a long sip from your milkshake, making sure you make that noise that annoys him so much. He rolls his eyes and shakes his head and you laugh at him, "I can't draw. My apples look like asses and my cats look like number eights with pointy things for ears." You pause for a moment and contemplate for a while before speaking. "I can be a barista though. I'm good at making coffee."

He smiles and pats your nose with his finger. "I know. I love your coffee."

"I knew how to brew coffee ever since I was four," you say proudly and his eyebrows rise in surprise, "well, I didn't learn how to grind beans until I was eight or nine, but I think brewing coffee at age four is pretty cool. Don't you think?"

He soon discovers that it's the only thing your mother ever taught you to do. At age four, Ellis Grey told you that "making coffee is one of the most important things an adult should know." So you learned how to brew coffee back then.

You just realized that Derek's chatty. He likes to tell stories and ask questions and talk about a lot of things. You don't do that, but you tell yourself that you could get used to it. You can be chatty too. It must come with being bright and shiny and all that.

"My full name is Meredith Elizabeth Grey," you suddenly blurt out and Derek smiles. You realize you've never told anybody about your middle name and you figured that Derek might like to know yours. "My middle name is Elizabeth. My mother says she got it from Queen Elizabeth, and it's the closest name she could get to Ellis without making it sound too sucky."

"Elizabeth," he repeats softly. "It's a very pretty name. Meredith Elizabeth… I like it. It sounds very nice."

"It is?" You're actually surprised he likes your name, because you sure as hell don't. He chuckles slightly and you shrug again. "I've never told anyone about my middle name." You pause. "Well, maybe except Cristina."

"But Richard knows your middle name," he says and the image of the Chief instantly fills your head. You laugh at him and shake your head, making Derek confused.

"He doesn't count," you say, smiling back at him, "He was the one who filled out my birth certificate."

It's true. Your mother was in the middle of a surgery when her water broke and you were born twelve hours later. Your father was down in San Francisco for a research at that time so there was no one else to fill your birth certificate. Richard Webber was there, he was friends with your mother and because there was no one else, he filled out your birth certificate. He was the first one who knew that your name is Meredith Elizabeth Grey.

You tell him that it's now your turn to ask. You want to know things about him ever since you met him (but you never got anything except ice cream flavors and his mother's maiden name) so you figured that this is the best time to ask. He agrees.

He starts your conversation with his middle name.

"My middle name is…"

"Christopher," you say coyly and he looks at you in surprise. "I have my sources." Derek takes this explanation and you laugh, wondering what he could be thinking of at the moment. When Addison came to visit, the last thing she told you before leaving for L.A. was his middle name and something you _don't_ expect your boyfriend's ex-wife to be telling you.

For one thing, the ex-wife shouldn't be telling you _not_ to give up on him. She shouldn't be reprimanding you for almost letting him get away.

You know a ton of stuff about Derek. Most of it didn't come from him and most of them were things that you really don't give a care if it was any other guy. But it's Derek you're talking about here so you care. Little things matter to you more than ever.

You know he likes the single malt scotch because his dad drank the stuff when he was a kid—that one you got from Mark after one particularly boring night at Joe's. You know he likes fudge brownies from the coffee cart near the entrance because you've watched him gobble them up in less than five minutes and it's practically the only food he refuses to share with you.

He's surprised you know those things. So he laughs, and adds a little bit more information to your internal "Derek Shepherd encyclopedia" and you smack him on the arm with your tiny ineffectual fists. But honestly, you'll take anything so you'd know him better.

He tells you that he hates the powdered sugar in the cereal—especially the Cheerios, claiming they make everything too sweet so he likes to eat muesli even if it's bland and boring. The only poem he knows is "I do not love you except because I love you" by Pablo Neruda because he says that it's the only poem that made him think when he was in high school.

Twenty years later, Pablo's poem is still making him think about things. You look up at him with sad eyes, and you remember a line from his poem.

"I love you only because it's you the one I love," you whisper softly and he cups your cheek with his hand.

He answers you with a line he remembers so well, "In this part of the story I am the one who," he pauses, his gaze apologetic and you smile slightly because you know what's coming next, "Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you,"

You look up at him and he's still gazing down on you like you're something precious. You tease him for being a hopeless romantic and he just smiles right back at you because you know it's true. That one, he's not gonna argue with.

You ask him if he'd dance with you. He says yes, and you know that you're the only person he's ever gonna dance with in public after Addison and the disaster that was prom.

You love him and he loves you. You're both not good at showing it but you're pretty much sure about this one.

xxxxx

You've been thinking about this for the longest time. You've blathered on about this to Cristina (even if she never wanted to listen to it,) and you've always wondered what it is like to live with a boy. Well, not just any other _boy_, but Derek.

So you ask him if he wants to live with you. He says yes and you look mildly surprised at his immediate response but not before he asks you if you're ready.

"I'm leaning into the fear and getting a happy ending," you tell him and he shakes his head in confusion.

"I don't even know what that means."

The day goes by and you've got yourself thinking. Cristina got impaled by an icicle and God knows it's another one of those weird things that happen to people, but she's said things. Things that made you want to think and reconsider your previous offer to Derek about moving in together.

It's not that you don't love him—God knows you've never loved anyone like Derek Shepherd before. But you're scared, more like terrified of that happy ending. You're afraid you're not gonna get it if you push too far, and you really, _really_ want to be with that chatty husband and five chatty children while living in the wilderness. You just want that damn freakin' happy ending.

Your pager beeps and you see it's from Derek. He's asking you to meet him in the exam room in fifteen minutes with a suture kit and antiseptic. It's weird, you think, when your doctor boyfriend pages you to bring stuff to heal a wound.

The nurses are talking when you get to the station to finish off your charts. Tyler gives you a look of curiosity and Debbie stuffs a couple of bills in her pocket while smiling triumphantly and you just eye them warily, wondering what on earth they've been betting on now.

A strong, muscular arm wraps around your waist and you jump slightly until you realized who it is.

"Hey," you whisper and Derek kisses you on the top of your head. "You scared me."

"Sorry," he says and you turn around in his grasp to face him. "Did you get my page?"

"Yeah. I just…" Your eyes catch the stark white gauze on his hand and you cock your head to the side to see it. He's got his left arm around you and his right hand is hanging idly beside him, so you look up at him questioningly. "Okay… Is that why you were asking me to bring antiseptic and a suture kit?"

"Yup." He nods his head encouragingly and you roll your eyes at him mockingly.

"You want _me_ to clean your hand and put a bandage on you?"

"Yup."

"Well, can't you just do it yourself?"

He shakes his head and pouts at you like a seven-year-old. "Nope."

"So you're telling me," you pause a little bit for drama, "that the Head of Neurosurgery of Seattle Grace Hospital _actually_ needs a resident to take care of his bloody hand?"

"Well," he whispers sexily and you roll your eyes at him, "I wouldn't say it's just _any_ resident. He has preferences you know. Particularly the pretty one with the blonde hair and green eyes and her last name is _Grey_."

He's funny, you figure and you can't help but play around with him for a little bit. Derek leans on the nurse's counter and he stares at you in a way he knows you can't resist. You grab one of your patient's charts and you scribble post-op notes on it feverishly as you try to ignore him but he bats his eyelashes at you and you glare at him, challenging him to mock you again.

"Oh, come on, Mer," he pleads after a minute of silent treatment from you, "It hurts bad. Come on, please?"

You laugh at him and you tug on his wounded hand to examine the cut. "Oh for heaven's sakes Derek, don't be such a baby," you say as you peel the gauze off the wound. It was a little deep, straight, and it's still oozing fresh blood, but you figured it's going to heal fast enough. "It's not that bad."

"Well, it hurts. Please?" he whines so you finally succumb to his pleading pouts and grab his other hand towards the nearest empty hallway. He settles himself on an empty gurney while you rummage for some cotton pads and fresh gauze and you can't help but like this feeling. That feeling that someone actually wants _you _to take care of _them_ because you _actually do_ care for them.

"You wanna hear how I cut my hand? It's a good story." He says as you dab the alcohol swabs on his hand. He winces and you continue to dab on it, making sure you clean everything (and to try and not listen to his story for a while because you really wanna say something.) He's really chatty, considering getting stabbed in the hand makes a good story for him.

"I am not sure that moving in together is a good idea," you tell him and he grits his teeth slightly from the stinging sensation from the antiseptic.

"Okay. Fine."

"Fine?" You actually half expected him to plead with you not to change your mind, but he doesn't. It actually surprises you and it makes you think if he's just gotten used to you taking a step forward and two steps back. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I know you," Derek says and he looks up at you as you continue to clean his wound.

You answer back and wonder if your words simply fell on deaf ears earlier. "So what, you didn't believe me that I would let you move in, in the first place?"

"I believe that you believed it." You stare at him and he pauses. "Look, I'm gonna move very slowly," He's promised you time because you needed it, and he's promised that he'll wait for you, "baby steps, no sudden moves. You're like a deer in the woods."

"Okay," you reply, smiling slightly at him, "I built a house of candles. That is unprecedented in the Meredith chronicles."

Seriously? You're like a deer in the woods? Okay. So you know you've been very iffy and weird and whatever about this whole moving in together, but seriously? A deer? You make a house out of freakin' candles and Derek still thinks you're going to back out again. Well, unfortunately for him, you're not.

"Fine, let's move in together." He pushes and you agree, even if you're in the middle of mending his cut.

"Fine."

"Unless of course you just wanna go ahead and get married."

Most of the time, jokes like this freak you out. They scare you, actually, but this time, when you hear Derek say it, it just doesn't feel the same anymore. What used to be a heavy feeling in the pit of your stomach changed into something less menacing and you're okay with it, but his words still caught you off guard so you just stare at him blankly in surprise and he catches the joke with his dreamy smile. "Gotcha." He says and some of the words he's saying aren't processing anymore.

You're surprised you you're not scared of the word anymore. A year ago, if Derek had sprung the "M" word on you, he'd probably have seen you run the opposite direction. This time however, you're wondering what it would feel like to actually be engaged. But of course, you know for sure you're not ready—yet.

xxx

When Chief Webber finally allowed Cristina to be sent home, you take her bag from her cubby and you don't ask permission from her if you could bring her home. You've called Derek to tell him that you're going to Cristina's and get her settled before following him to the trailer and you ask him to meet you in the lobby and he agrees, telling you he'll be down after he changes his clothes.

Cristina's cranky and all as she's sitting in a wheelchair (all thanks to hospital policy) and you're sitting in the lobby waiting for Derek. Cristina's complaining about how gooey and cheesy and soft you are, and you retaliate, telling her that you like being that gooey, cheesy, soft girl for Derek. She says you're whipped and you correct her, telling her that Derek's the one who's whipped. You feel someone kissing the top of your head and you look up, finding Derek standing behind the row of chairs you've been sitting on. Derek greets Cristina, but the stubborn resident simply rolls her eyes at him. You go around the chair and kiss him on the cheek as he turns to you.

"Hey."

"Hey," you greet him and you fiddle with the collar of his coat, "So, I'll just meet up with you at the trailer?"

He nods and grins at you broadly, making your narrow your eyes at him. "What?"

"Nothing," he replies and you brush your lips with his before he leaves. He looks over at Cristina and back at you, not before asking, "You gonna be okay over here?"

"Yeah, we're gonna be fine. She just needs some food and a bed." A couple of take-out dinners and a good sleep should keep Cristina fine, you think, and you don't even notice Derek moving away from you.

"Don't let her do anything stupid." He says, and whispers, "I'll see you in a while." He walks out the doors to head home and now you can't help but miss him when he hasn't even left the same vicinity as you have.

"Oh for heaven's sakes, Meredith," you hear Cristina's characteristically annoyed tone behind you and you turn around to face her, "Hello? Impaled person here. Do you mind if we could actually go home now?"

"Ugh, fine. Let's go."

xxx

When you get to Cristina's apartment, you fumble around with her keys for a bit as she leans on the side of the door waiting for you. The knob turns and you grab your bags and the take-out to bring inside, before helping Cristina shuffle her way towards the bedroom. You take her hands and help ease her onto the bed by pulling her legs up and when she's got herself comfortable, you sit on the edge and just go straight to the point.

"You said Derek and I will never make it." You tell Cristina and she shakes her head, rolling her eyes at you.

"And then I was karmically impaled for saying it." She retorts, but you ignore it. There are things when you finally let things get to your head and you don't know what you're doing anymore. You were bright and shiny Meredith for a few days now, and today, after Cristina getting impaled by an icicle and three aging princesses were put in your care while their husbands were being treated—the pessimistic Meredith suddenly rears her head and you follow her again. You've been thinking too much and now you agree to what Cristina told you earlier.

"But you're right; I mean people don't really have happily ever afters. People barely have ever afters." You sigh heavily. "So why would Derek and I be any different?"

You stand up and move to the other side of her bed, and Cristina follows you with her eyes. "Mer, why do you care what I think?"

It never really hit you until now that Cristina matters to you a lot. She's your sister (though not really,) and she's the only family you've got. So what she says, it matters. And what she says, it always makes you think.

"Because you're my person," you tell her as you flop down on the bed beside her. "And if I'm gonna do this with him, be whole and healthy and be a warm gooey person who lives with a boy, I need you. I need you onboard. I need you to cheer me on."

You want Cristina to be there for you. When she was gonna get married to Burke, you wanted her to walk down that aisle because it's a sign—a sign that at least, you and Derek had a chance. And now that the tables are turned, you want her to have that chance—that there are happily ever afters and fairy tale endings. "Because you're only one who knows me," you say before pausing to stare at your best friend, "darkly. Really knows me. I need you to pretend that I can do this even if you don't believe. Because if you abandon me now, I will never make it and I'll never get my happy ending and then that's just…"

"Life," she exclaims and it leaves you speechless for a fraction of a second. Sometimes you don't even know if your best friend is actually rooting for you, or she's just doing what she does best.

"I'm saying please here."

She stops, blows a breath and sighs deeply. "I think you and Derek will make it. You will make it work." She turns to look at you and you look back, slightly defeated.

"Are you just telling me what I wanna hear?"

It's a complicated friendship you have, you and Cristina. It's weird, because you don't talk too much about things but you get each other in a way that people really don't understand. People don't understand why you're actually _friends_ with Cristina Yang, because let's face it, she's just about as difficult as taming a lion who's grown up in the jungle. You'll just get to love her when you know her well enough. Cristina breathes, and she looks at you intently.

"I am your person. I'm on your side."

On some days, your best friend will hate you. On others, she'll be the one taking care of you. When you're on your bad days, she'll try to cheer you up (no matter how awful her efforts are,) and on days that you're happy, she tries to be cheerful and be okay with you talking non-stop. Cristina's your person. She may be sick of talking about you and Derek for this long, but at the end of the day, you're glad she's still on your side. Because in reality, you don't know where you're gonna be when she stops being on your side.

xxx

You called Derek a while ago to tell him that you were on your way to his trailer. He told you that he's about halfway done with all his packing (because really, how much stuff can you actually hold in a trailer?) and he's just putting away his fishing gear and his clothes. He tells you to take your time, drive safely and watch the roads (because of all the ice and snow,) and you can't help but smile before putting the phone down.

It does feel good to have someone care for you.

When you get to his land, everything just seems to be abandoned. The Chief's trailer was left as it was when he lived on it (except for his personal belongings, which you assume he has brought back home already,) and Derek's trailer is now starting to become bare. The deck chairs were now neatly folded and piled on the side, his plates and other kitchen stuff were organized neatly into a box, and his journals, books, and other medical research materials were already filed and ready to be moved. The boxes are still open and unsealed, and the only things left unpacked are his clothes, which you are pretty sure he'll be folding neatly inside a suitcase as opposed to your packing style (which is picking up and throwing everything in.)

He smiles broadly when he sees you come in and you ask how you can help. He hands you the packing tape and kisses you quickly on the lips, saying there's just his clothes and sheets left and all you have to do is tape up all the boxes. You agree, seeing as it's the only job you can actually do here.

You get to work by taping every box you see he's left unopened. (Which is probably almost everything—he hasn't closed any boxes yet.) You look up from taping a box of kitchenware and you see Derek folding up his dress shirts and then it hit you—you're going to live with a boy. A boy that you love. You're going to live with Derek, and whether or not Cristina thinks you are going to (or not gonna) work, you're going to at least try. You're going to try and get _that_ happy ending.

The two of you stuff Derek's belongings inside his SUV and you both decide to take different cars back home. You left earlier than he did so you had the chance of doing some last minute cleaning up at your house and the next thing you know, you've made space for him in your driveway and you're waiting up for him in the front porch while nervously jingling the keys you had in your hand.

You're holding a brand new set of keys strung on to a little plastic ferryboat keychain. You cannot believe how unbelievably corny it looked. Stupid hospital gift shops, why can't they just, for once, have something worth buying?

A few minutes later, Derek's enormous Range Rover looms into view and turns on your driveway, fitting nicely beside your jeep. You have no idea how his other, more luxurious car will fit in your garage (along with Alex's car,) but the problem fades away when you stand up and greet him with a kiss on the cheek. You hand him his brand new set of keys, ramble about why you got the cheesy ferryboat keychain for a few minutes and he kisses you so deeply that if any other car passed by your street, you were pretty sure one of them will crash. You and Derek were pretty much doing a full on make-out session in your driveway and you practically don't care.

An hour later, after you've made space for him in your closet and he's stuffed his clothes in your drawer, you both eat dinner (thanks to Izzie who ordered Italian tonight,) and end up having an enjoyable romp in your bed. Not _your_ bed alone anymore, but yours _and_ Derek's bed. You're living with a boy and he's gonna be sleeping in your bed too. Minutes later, you're gasping at his touch and his kisses are making you feel light-headed that you wish so bad that it won't stop. You're wishing that Derek won't ever stop… loving you.

He collapses beside you and you look at him, wondering how much he loves you. You wonder how you're gonna be the warm, gooey girl that he likes, and you're wondering how dark and twisty Meredith is going to disappear. You feel his arm wrap around your waist and he pulls on you, tucking you close to his body to spoon you. His breath catches on your neck and he sighs quietly before talking.

"Hey," he whispers, "are you okay?"

You nod against him and his lips are trailing soft kisses on your neck again. "Yeah, I'm okay."

"Something's on your mind." He says and you close your eyes briefly, thinking when he ever learned to read you like that. Sometimes you wish he couldn't read you like that because it means you can't keep anything from him, but sometimes you like it—because then you don't need to say things and he'll understand. He'll try to understand and he'll still love you afterwards. You sigh and roll over to face him, and you can't help but see his eyes. He's worried and you smile slightly at his concern.

"I'm going to try to make this work, okay?" You tell him and Derek pulls away slightly, propping his head on his hand as he looks at you fully. "I'm going to try and lean into the fear so I can get my happy ending. Because Derek, really, I'm scared here. So if I mess up, don't give up so easily, okay?"

You are scared. In fact, this whole moving in thing? Totally terrifying. But if there's any indication that you've learned something over the past few months, it's the fact that taking a step will get you somewhere. It will get you the happy ending you've been wishing for all along. Derek's still looking at you, but he's got a small smile on his face now.

"And here I thought you were scared because I moved in with you."

"What?" You exclaim and you stutter incomprehensible words that make him laugh. "No. No! Of course not, it's not because you moved in. I mean, you moving in is perfect, it's just that…" You ramble, but Derek presses a finger to your lips and you stop talking. He has something to say.

"I'm not giving up that easily okay?" He assures you and you simply nod. You believe the promise he made on the night you got back together, and with him reassuring your of that promise every time, you most certainly believe him now. "We're taking it slow. I don't want to mess this up because I don't want to lose it again. Okay?"

"Okay."

You haven't said something to Derek in the longest time. Not even when you two got back together. So you roll over, Derek stares at you intently and you whisper something that even he was surprised to hear from you in the longest time.

"I love you." You whisper and you think his heart stopped for a while back there. He reaches out to you and strokes your cheek with his finger, smiling at you. "I love you too," he says and you both end up falling asleep after a little bit more conversation.

xxxxx

Derek was in the middle of opening the patient's skull flap when he sprung the question on you. You were currently monitoring the patient's vitals when he spoke so it's safe to say that you were mildly amused (and possibly annoyed) when you turned to look at him and his eyes were sparkling.

"I liked dinner last night," he comments but you choose to ignore him, "I liked it. Very rustic."

You roll your eyes as you eyed the monitor in front of you. "You had pizza, Derek. I'd hardly call that _rustic_." He laughs from behind his mask and you can't help but smile too. You like the way he laughs.

"Oh, but it's rustic. I mean, you know, simple, very country…"

"It came from a box."

He smirks, and you snatch a side glance at him and you could see him trying not to laugh as he's concentrated on clipping the aneurysm in front of him.

"Okay, fine. It's not rustic, but it's good. I had a great dinner—retractor blade please... thank you—but you know… we could have something more fancy once in a while."

You turn around and stare at him. He catches your eyes and he chuckles, turning back to the open brain in front of him when he asks. "Will you go out with me? Say, tomorrow night?"

You're inside the OR, with about a dozen other people—from your interns to the scrub nurses who put on your gloves during surgery, and all of them are listening with bated breath as to what you will say. You really didn't think they were listening to you but apparently they were, and now you're left to answer Derek's question.

"Don't you think it's quite inappropriate for you to be asking me these questions Dr. Shepherd?" You tell him and he shrugs, his eyes turning up to look at you.

"A lot of things are quite inappropriate in this hospital Dr. Grey." Even through the eye scopes and the glasses, you can't help but see that his eyes are mirroring the smile behind his mask. "Well?"

You sigh (quite audibly, if you might add,) and close the distance between the two of you. One of your interns voluntarily takes your place in watching the patient's vitals but you don't notice this, because now you're standing beside Derek as he continues to probe the patient's brain looking for the aneurysm.

"You're really going to insist on this, aren't you?"

"You can say that, yes."

"And what if I say no?"

He looks at you and you simply shrug, your eyes probably betraying you for the little smirk you're having behind your mask. He decides to play the game.

"Then that's just sad," he says, going back to the open skull in front of him, "I won't get to eat my steak then."

You groan and a few people in the room are trying to hold back a chuckle, when they obviously can't. Derek knows you too much—like the fact that you can't say no to steak in your favorite steakhouse and the fact that you do want to go out to dinner with him. You just weren't expecting him to give you this proposition in the middle of a surgery.

"And if I say yes?"

Derek looks up and stares at you. "Well then Dr. Grey, I'll be a happy, happy man."

"Ugh, Derek…" you whisper and roll your eyes before sighing, "Okay. Okay Dr. Shepherd. Fine, dinner. We can do dinner."

"Great!" Derek says and steps away from the table. He hands the surgical instruments to one of the scrub nurses and another resident takes over to close up for him. His eyes stray over to you and he jerks his head towards the scrub room where you follow him, peeling off the gown and the gloves as you go by. The sealed automatic doors close behind you and in minutes, his lips are connected to yours and you're not so sure anymore how you're breathing.

"You owe me a huge, huge slab of steak Derek." You tell him, laughing, as you swipe at his chest and kiss him again. "Don't ever do that again."

He smiles, feigning innocence as he rests his forehead with yours. "Do what? I didn't do anything."

"Ugh," you roll your eyes at him and he laughs as he pulls away from you to start scrubbing out and you follow suit. "I'm gonna get back at you for this, you know."

He laughs, his eyes twinkling with delight and he winks at you. "I'm sure you are."

You're excited. You're actually going on a date—and you can't wait.

xxx

Derek takes you out to dinner. A real dinner date, one that involved you wearing a particularly sexy dress (in which Derek has complimented that you look absolutely hot,) stuffy waiters in tuxedos, private booths and fancy tablecloths on the table. When you came in the restaurant, they immediately led you to one of those round private booths with cushioned seats that wrap around the table and you sit across from him like what couples do.

"Do you like it?" He asks, gesturing around the area. You giggle and he smiles at you. "I take it you do."

"Of course I do, Derek," you tell him, "the place has food!"

Derek laughs and he winks at you when the waiter arrives carrying your appetizers and bread. "You know," he starts, "this is our actual first date."

"Third first date," you correct him and his brow furrows. You shrug. "You know, the third time you brought me someplace?"

"When was the first one?" He asks and you answer him without even thinking. You remember because you couldn't help but smile the whole morning after that breakfast.

"When we had breakfast in that little café near the hospital." You say and he chuckles, and you roll your eyes at him. You figured that he didn't think of that one as a date.

The sommelier arrives with a bottle of red wine that Derek ordered and you feel his hand tugging you to close the distance between yourselves. You slide over to his side and his arm instantly wraps around your waist. His lips are dangerously close to yours but he turns his head, and now he's whispering in your ear.

"I don't think that was a date. It was breakfast after all."

"The other one then. The one with the wine and the ferryboats."

You never thought you'd bring anyone out to that spot. The small clearing near your house weaved a worn path from the road leading from your backyard and it was the perfect place to see the ferryboats. Your father brought you out here in the mornings when you were four, and he would put you on his shoulders as you imagined being on top of the world. You could see the ferryboats and the dock from here, and at night, the lights looks like a bright twisted rope that reflected itself on the water. You liked this place because you felt like you're on top of the world. When you met Derek, he was the first man you ever brought up here—because you felt that he was the only one who'd share the same glorious feeling that you felt as a child. So you pick out a good bottle of wine from the liquor store and you surprise him, telling him you know a place where it's nice to see the ferryboats. He drives you there and the next thing you know, you feel like you've found the man for you.

"Nope, sorry," he says, shaking his head, "You were the one who brought me out to that spot; I don't think that was a date."

You narrow your eyes at him. "So if it's me who brings you out, it's not considered a date?"

"Well, no. It's not a date—well, at least for me. I still like to think that I'm a gentleman and besides," you reach out to stroke her hair, "there wasn't any dinner involved. That's not a date."

You huff, and the food arrives. Derek cuts up his steak, spearing one on his fork to offer you his first bite. In exchange for that, you offer him your pasta and he teases you for getting something "not-Meredith" (in his words) and you annoy him by soaking a piece of bread in olive oil and stuffing it in his mouth. His lips glisten because of the oil and it takes so much from you to keep you from kissing him in the small private booth you both share.

After dinner, the waiter arrives carrying a smaller menu offering you dessert. You don't take it when he offers—instead, you tell him what you want right away.

"Cheesecake," you tell him, "do you have cheesecake?"

"Yes, Madame. You might like the chef's special tonight, strawberry cheesecake with chocolate…"

"Surprise us." After that he comes back bearing your strawberry cheesecake and one fork. You tuck yourself beside Derek and take the first bite, smiling as Derek watched you hungrily from the side.

"You're not giving me any?" He asks, giving _that_ look that makes you melt every time he does. You give him the next bite.

"Sure I am," you whisper softly, "because I love you so much that I can let you have the last piece of cheesecake."

And you do love him—so much so that sometimes you hate him, but you love him. You'll pretend to like his music (even if you don't like The Clash,) you'll hold a radio over your head and let him have the last piece of cheesecake… even if it's the chef's special.

xxxxx

It's the same dream. The same nightmare you keep having ever since the night you and Derek got back together. You hate this dream—you hate it so much that sometimes, you lie in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling above you. And you shouldn't be having this dream because you're happy, you sleep with the man you love and he's not going to leave you anymore, just like he promised.

But you still keep having that dream. It gets worse when you take naps in the hospital in the middle of the day and you wake up without Derek beside you, breathing. It makes you panic, even if you're not supposed to.

Today's no different. You left the house at around five in the morning, and Derek was still sleeping because his shift starts six hours after yours. So you leave him with a kiss goodbye and a scribbled note to page you when he gets to the hospital. You haven't been sleeping well lately so you crash in the tunnels after doing post-ops for Bailey and you find yourself dozing off and dreaming again.

You're standing in the middle of the candle house, waiting for Derek. He left you over two hours ago and he still hasn't come back—the candles are slowly dying and you're still here, waiting. It's cold, and when you decide to move back to his trailer, your phone rings in your pocket and you feverishly fish for it, hoping it's Derek calling to tell you why he's still not back. You're disappointed to find it's Cristina, but you answer anyway.

"Mer… I need you to come to the hospital," Cristina says in a rush without even waiting for you to answer. You feel stunned and helpless because you're rooted to the spot, breathing heavily that Cristina was worrying from the other end of the phone. "Mer, I need you to… it's Derek."

"Wh- what?" You're afraid you're going to explode because now you're running towards your car, knowing what Cristina's answer will be.

"It's… it's Derek. He's been in an accident…" You don't hear Cristina's explanation because the next thing you know, you're speeding down towards the hospital.

When you get there, you haphazardly park your car on the lot and run towards the trauma rooms as fast as you can. Nurses and doctors move out of your way when they saw you come in and you barge into the pit, seeing Cristina and the Chief watching weakly outside a trauma room.

"What happened?" You ask and Cristina rushes to your side, explaining things, trying to block your view of the man lying helplessly inside.

"A bus in front of him hit a telephone pole," she says, but you don't seem to be listening, "he tried to swerve to miss it, but…"

"How bad is it?"

"Meredith," the Chief and Cristina say in unison but only your person continues, "you're gonna have to be strong."

You run towards the trauma room and find Derek, bloody and broken as Bailey desperately tries to keep his heart beating. Mark is inside, breathing for him and you gasp, helpless at what you're seeing. You've never seen Derek get hurt before, not physically anyway, because he's always been this image of strength to you. But he is now, lying helpless and not breathing and you can't keep the strangled sob inside you anymore. When Bailey gives up on him, you feel your life draining away, screaming for him not to leave you and you cry. You were supposed to get that happy ending.

You suddenly bolt up from bed, breathing heavily as your knuckles turn white from clutching the gurney's rails too tightly. You blink rapidly and to your surprise, Derek's sitting on the edge of the gurney looking surprised and worried as he closes the space between the two of you.

"Derek," you breathe and you cuddle closer to him, thankful for his presence at this moment, "thank God."

He pulls you in his lap and you rest your head on his shoulder, breathing in his familiar scent. You're shaking, so Derek rubs his hand in comforting circles on your back as he tries to calm you down.

"What happened?" He asks, and remnants of the dream flash in your head and he tips your chin with his finger. "Meredith, what's wrong?"

"I'm scared," you admit, and for the first time since you've been having this dream, you cry. He whispers reassurances in your ear, and you gasp for breath, hoping that when all this ends, he'll understand. "I'm scared. Please, please Derek. Please don't leave me. Ever."

"What? I'm not going anywhere…"

"I don't want to lose you." The words stumble helplessly in your mouth as your sobs takes over your words, "I dreamt… oh God. I'm… I don't… don't want to lose you…"

Derek kisses your forehead and you can't help but be thankful he's here for you. Holding you, loving you.

"What happened?" He asks, and vague words are those that only seem to work.

"Don't die on me Derek. Promise me you're not gonna die on me."

"I'm not…"

"You died Derek," you tell him, "in my dream you died. When you left me in the candle house, you didn't come back. And I had to see you die. For the fucking hundredth time, I dreamt that you died. For the hundredth time I had to see Bailey give up on saving you and you die. Derek, I can't… I just…"

"How long have you been having this dream?" He asks, wiping the tears from your face with his fingers and you're desperately trying not to look at him. "Meredith?"

"A couple of days… probably a week…" He glares at you and you wither in his gaze, "okay. Maybe a day after we left the candle house."

"Mer, why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought it was just my neurosis getting the best of me." You stop. In the short time that you've gone back together, you haven't told him how you're whole and healed. You haven't said anything about Dr. Wyatt and therapy and you decide that this… this might be the best time. You just hope he doesn't think of you otherwise. "I'm in therapy Derek."

"Okay."

"It's just… I'm so scared…"

"Of?"

You sigh, pulling away from him as you let your body drop heavily back on the cushion. "The happy ending. I'm just so fucking scared I'm not going to get the happy ending," you say, looking at him, "because seriously. Who the hell gets their happy ending nowadays? I mean, it's only nothing but the stuff you leave to imagine in your dreams."

It's true. You don't believe in happy endings. Truth is, fairy tales were nothing but stories you learned from school, and nothing like what your mother would've read to you as a child. Your nannies did tell you about these stories once in a while, but when it was your mother left to tuck you in bed, all she ever did was turn off the light and leave you to fall asleep. You definitely didn't believe in fairy tales because in those stories, it's the step mother who's mean to their princess daughters—not their real mothers.

"Look," he says, looking at you, "we're not perfect, I know that. And I know that how we got here, it's all crappy and messed up. We started on the wrong foot, probably even fucked everything up. But you know what matters the most to me?"

"What?"

"It's that you're here and I'm here for you. Because no matter what happens, no matter how many more crappy things that comes our way, we're going to fight for that happy ending." You look up at him and he kisses you right before he gets up. "You should get the happy ending Mer. Because you deserve so much better."

You're happy—well, at least for the moment. You're trying to get to that happy ending, and you're hoping that you'll get there soon with Derek. You pull his collar and you kiss him deeply, ignoring the fact that his pager is beeping and you know he has to leave.

"Page me if you need me. I'll be back, I promise," he tells you and your fingers fumble with the crease of his lab coat, "I love you."

Derek's walking away from you again, but he's promised that he's going to come back. The last time he did that, he _did_ come back so right now, right at this very moment, you don't doubt the fact that he'll come back for you. Because at the end of the day, when you wake up screaming in the middle of the night because of a bad dream, you can count on it that Derek's gonna be beside you, with his arms around you making you feel safe. And he'll never leave you.

You're still far from that happy ending—of course you are. Nobody gets it with a snap of a finger, and you sure as hell won't start feeling anything like that. Your point is, this is Derek—he's the love that you've got (along with your family, of course) and you promised yourself that you're never ever going to let him go. You've promised yourself you're gonna get that happy ending, even if you're in this twisted fairytale.


End file.
